


Find One Thing Lost, Finding One Thing Lost

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Series: The many attributes and workings of Snufkin the Wanderer [4]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Comfort, Deaf Character, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hearing Voices, I think thats so dang funny with Snufkin's voice actor, Joxter talks a lot, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sign Language, Snork is in it for like 20 seconds of read time, Snufkin is kinda moody in this fic bc I was kinda moody while writing it lmao, Stinky is a plot device who cares he sucks anyway, by we I mean me, deaf!Snufkin, he just sort of talks like its his hobby, lol oof, no beta we die idiots, this whole fic is one big stinky hate party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: “Give it back, Stinky! Whatever you’ve got doesn’t belong to you!”“I thought you didn’t believe in private property, Snufkin!”Snufkin almost guffaws, but doesn’t want to distract himself and lose pace. “That is not what private property is!”In which Stinky steals from the Snork, Moomin and Snufkin chase him down, and meet an unlikely man in the process.





	Find One Thing Lost, Finding One Thing Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super proud of this one but I hope you like it anyway! :)  
> (Wow, I figured out how to make indenting work somehow, haha! Usually it deletes all my indents before I post.)

It started, as most problems, if you’d ask Snufkin, tend to in Moominvalley- with Stinky. 

Stinky who, for no foreseeable reason aside from his own unique personality which Snufkin would also go so far as to compare to a pile of trash, had stolen from the Snork. Snork, who had been stolen from, hollered and hailed at the obnoxious ball of fluff running and rolling simultaneously away from him to stop, yield,  _ give it back!  _

__ Stinky laughs and sticks his tongue out, picking up his pace and less-than careful with the stolen material, some of which the Snork would solemn see again and were absolutely necessary to test his new flying aircraft with. They were irreplaceable, expensive,  _ shiny  _ materials that Stinky had stolen to the best guess of anyone- for money? For fun? Just to be plain old inconvenient? All seemed a fair guess to Snufkin, who watches the Snork dash after Stinky, eyeing the small bundle of materials in Stinky’s paw and making the instant and logical conclusion that they did not belong to him, but rather the angry snork giving chase. 

So, Snufkin hops off his perch were he had sat amongst the rocks to enjoy the warmth of the sun and gives pursuit. Thankful that he did when he did, for the Snork was exhausted and positively collapsed the moment he saw the mumrik coming for his aid, pointing a shaky finger after Stinky before giving into exhaustion. Snufkin nods, understanding, and follows Stinky. 

“Give it back, Stinky! Whatever you’ve got doesn’t belong to you!” 

“I thought you didn’t believe in private property, Snufkin!” 

Snufkin almost guffaws, but doesn’t want to distract himself and lose pace. “That is  _ not what private property is!”  _

Stinky just laughs, hops ellegantly over a bridged twig that Snufkin has to stride his legs a little more carefully over. He could smell the bitter tang of rain coming in, though the clouds were mostly absent, the sun still shining brighter than would could ever hope a candlelight could do. The rain was a gorgeous sound to sleep to, a sound Snufkin would gladly leave his hearing aids in all night to hear. He was quite looking forward to it, actually, as the grass could certainly use it. 

He skids up to Stinky, forcing the thief to twist to the right as opposed to straight. In doing so, they pass closer to Moominhouse than Stinky would have expected, and the moment they’re in range Snufkin calls out for help. 

Moomin hears, having been closer than anybody, and is soon running at Snufkin’s side to catch the ridiculously amble fluff-ball in front. 

“What’s he taken?” Moomin yells as he pulls up beside Snufkin, who can only guess that if it belonged to the Snork, it was for his flying machine. So, Snufkin just lets out a moan, a verbal shrug, and Moomin seems okay with this answer and runs faster. 

Moomin goes left, and Snufkin goes right, and the cut Stinky off at the base of a tree, Snufkin snatching him up before he can climb up it. 

“Let me go! Let me go!” Stinky whines, and before Snufkin can say anything to that, the little creature  _ bites  _ Snufkin. It surprised more than hurt Snufkin, but it was enough for his grip to loosen just enough that the thief can wiggle out, hop off Moomintroll’s head and topple him over, and continue running. 

Snufkin takes a moment, pulls Moomin back up, and ignores the sting in his paw as he does so. Moomin frowns at the paw, but he’s not bleeding, so they continue running. Snufkin, more determined, and Moomin more vengeful. 

The smell in the air is one of crisp precipitation, and as they run, it’s clear that it’s getting stronger. They were heading towards it, then, and Snufkin knew that they’d have to catch Stinky before it set in, else he could slip through their grasp. 

Stinky’s laughter can be heard just where they can’t see him, having gotten too far ahead, and the pair chase after it until the rain finally starts to come down. Light for moments, quickly turning harsher each step until the water could feel angry at them, with how hard they hit on skin, fabric and fur. 

Using his powerful back feet and incredulously small body-weight, Stinky flings himself upward at the face of a rock wall, turning sludgy with dirt and water, and bounces up, up, and up. He lands on a flat surface at the top of an enclosed path that opened at the mouth, and he bounds down the thin and slippery pathway. 

Snufkin follows his eyes up the steep ridge that one could not see past, for it weaves downwards and into the footing of a bank. A narrow bank, at that- one that would be wet and unstable in no time. 

“Moomin,” Snufkin says, then. He’s not certain which words would best follow that up, but the troll is already attempting to scale the wall Stinky had bounded up. Snufkin pouts, surveys the sheen of water glossing off the rocks and mud from the pelting rain above. It would be ridiculous to try and climb up it now- neither of them were as bountiful as Stinky, especially in these conditions. They didn’t know where the path would lead out, either, seeing as it reaches out of eyesight and the wall goes on thick and steady for a ways. 

The troll’s grip slips, and he slides down what little ways he’d made it up. Snufkin holds him up, softens his descent. 

“Ugh, Snufkin! This is horrid, we have to get up there!” 

Snufkin frowns. “Perhaps not. It could be a dead end, and Stinky may very well have to come right back out.” 

Moomin pouts. He crosses his arms, fur now muddied and dirty. “If it’s not, we’ll have very well lost something very precious to someone. It is precious isn’t it?” 

Uncertain himself, the mumrik simply watches the troll as he turns away, clearly not having expected an answer anyway. He tries his way up again, and Snufkin feels his heart practically skipped a beat when he slides off it once more, having to react quicker to catch him and almost missing the chance. 

“Moomin,” Snufkin tries, again, and again the troll tries to make his way up. Snufkin has to grab his shoulder, physically hold him back. The glare the troll sends him at the sudden restraint is uncharacteristic, but Snufkin is just as stubborn. Hurriedly, voice less polite than usual, Snufkin holds his gaze and says,“I don’t think we should go up there.” 

The rain is the only sound heard for a moment. Eventually, Moomin gulps. “We must, to get whatever it is he has back. You really don’t know what it is?” 

Tipping his hat down to protect his eyes better from the water, Snufkin sighs. “It belonged to the Snork, so I can guess, but we’d have to get it back to know. Only, going up there shaped how we do doesn’t sound the smartest practice.” 

“Oh, but we will, won't we, Snufkin? It's only us that can do it, for nobody else will be around for at least a mile of this rain.” 

The mumrik wrinkles his nose. “We’ll have to make like the rest of them, then, and come back after the path has dried. My heart is telling me to turn around, right this moment.” 

Moomin looks downtrodden. “But… my heart wants me to get whatever he took from the Snork back.” 

“Is your heart telling you to climb up there now and put yourself in danger?” Snufkin asks, eyes narrowed a little, scared to find the answer.

Moomin’s eyes are set, steady and absent of any fear. “I’ve never been as good at listening to my heart as you are, Snufkin, but I do know that if I leave now, coming back will do no good.” 

No, perhaps it wouldn’t. Snufkin couldn’t really argue, for he understood the meaning behind the words. It was a push that lead them here, and asking him to return another day was like asking someone who’d just been pushed not to stumble. So, supportively, Snufkin puts his paw on the trolls shoulder once more, softer this time, and squeezes. He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree- so, he stays silent, and lets his friend choose their next steps. His paw was there as a sign that no matter what he chose, Snufkin would be there with him. 

Moomintroll’s eyes cast down to the paw on his shoulder, and he sighs. “It’ll be quick.” 

Snufkin blinks slowly, then removes his paw, allowing Moomin the freedom to make his way over to the slope. The more water coming down meant the more slippery the path would be made, and thus the more dangerous. Snufkin was very good at balancing, and had yet to cause himself danger intentionally like this (save for that one time he’d fallen into some sharp brambles running from the cops, but that was a story he’d probably take to the grave, as he couldn’t see it naturally coming up in conversation). Moomins were very adapt creatures themselves, though he’d often seen Moomintroll stumble over himself or toss himself headfirst into precarious situations if he thought he could get himself out of them. 

Moomin crawls his way up the slope with determination, and Snufkin lets him lead the way despite it being easy for him to surpass the other. He had no reason to- this was Moomin’s journey at this point, not his. Moomin needed to find whatever Stinky had taken or not find it at all so his mind could be at peace, for if he left it as is then he’d always travel with regret. Snufkin couldn’t let his friend do that to himself, and would help so long as Moomin was in need. 

Many, many times had Moomin helped him, after all. His presence was a reminder that he loved Moominvalley for more than just the surrounding sea; he was a presence that grounded Snufkin as his nature would tempt him to drift away. He was never lonely when he went months of travelling on end with to chatter, but after meeting Moomin and realizing that it doesn't always have to be so self-sufficed a life for him, he began to return to Moominvalley every spring. 

Complicated a matter as it was, nothing was as clear as the sight of Moomin running to meet him on those first few days of sunny spring as he walks the path once more. 

It takes a few more tries, but with Snufkin helping him up, the two clambour their way up. At the top of the slope, Moomin huffs for breath. The rain was still coming down, grossly so, and Snufkin pops his head above the ridge at Moomin’s heels with his hat tempted to blow away. He grabs it with a paw and hops alongside Moomin, eyes narrowed up ahead to get a better view. 

It was a sleek path, leading upwards with a wall of rock on one side, but not the other. Both him and Moomin had trailed paths like this, but never in such wet and windy conditions. 

The two exchange looks- Moomin, worried but trying to be brave; Snufkin, worried but trying to be calm- and Moomin begins to walk, holding onto the wall like a railing, tail stuck out for balance. 

Snufkin mirrors his pose and follows, eyeing his friends foot and advising him on stepping on more solid parts of rock along the way. Falling from a height like this wouldn’t be awful for someone of Moomin’s stature, but the path was beginning to become more enclosed the more the climbed. If he fell while the walls were converging, he could end up in a crevice, and with it as wet as it was Snufkin couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to climb back out. It would be wet and slippery, mud between rocks making it difficult to scale with paws such as his. Snufkin doesn’t much expect himself to fall, but one could never know for certain of anything. His own paws might be able to lift him out should they come to it, at least; though, his mind was focused on keeping Moomin safe. 

The path begins to toil into a weave, meaning it was likely leading to an enclosure. Moomin seems to realize this, too, and picks up his pace. 

“Take it slow, my friend,” Snufkin cautions over the wind, one paw along the wall and the other holding tight to his hat. The wind was aggressive up here, and he wouldn’t like to lose something of his own while Moomin searches for something for the Snork. Moomin, almost on cue, stumbles; without hesitance, Snufkin reaches out to stabilize him, grabbing his paw and tugging back onto a sludgy rock against the wall. It’s a strain, but it works; the two are left panting as Moomin, shaking, tries to regain his composure. Eventually, he looks up at Snufkin, eyes wide and frightened. 

“Your hat,” he whines, and Snufkin felt it leave in the struggle and swallows down the comment bitterly. He doesn’t have time to feel loss over his chapeu. They couldn’t stay in one spot like this, had to keep moving so the chances of Moomin falling wouldn’t be increased in the heavy rain. 

So, he closes his eyes. “Yes, my hat. But we can’t stay, we’ve gotta keep moving so we can get out of this rain. Do you think you can keep going?” 

“Y-yes… Yes, I can.” 

His eyes open and he nods, and Moomin does just that. They walk again for nearly five minutes before the sound of Stinky giggling up ahead, and Snufin rolls his eyes, wondering what could possibly be going on inside of that guy's head to make him laugh so much. In the near-distance, there’s a space up ahead, leading under a rock where they might be more sheltered. Snufkin can’t see it from behind Moomin, and wouldn’t dare lean over to try and glance around him, so he takes his word for it and they keep going. 

Suddenly, the ground under Moomin’s back paws gives out. He steps back carefully, crying out in shock, and bumps into the mumrik behind him. Unexpecting the sudden contact, Snufkin is bumped backwards in recoil, where his own feet attempt to step on reflex find no ground, and Snufkin’s balance is thrown off by the open air below him. 

“Snufkin!” cries the troll in alarm as Snufkin’s footing breaks loose and he’s sent tumbling down the slope, rolling roughly against the dirt and stone. It’s a long fall, but eventually, he comes to the surface floor- and slams his head against it as he lands. 

He thinks he blacked out, or maybe the world simply turned dark, darker than the night sky or the feeling of closing your eyes for sleep. It was so dark that he knew something was wrong, and he forces his eyes open and it’s still so  _ dark, _ and he’s about to panic when he feels a paw on his cheeks. The contact is soft, unlike everything around him, cold as the dirt was. He can’t feel anything except for cold and the touch, which was a break from the stasis he’s not sure what he’s doing in. 

He’s leaning into the touch, but it might just be that the effort of lifting his head was too much. The contact is shaking- maybe they’re shaking him, whoevers paws they belong to, or maybe they’re shaking simply because it’s cold. It’s so, so, cold. The paws are shaking, still, and it’s making him dizzy and he opens his eyes, confused as to how he hadn’t already done that. Didn’t he already do that? Did he close them again so soon, and not notice? 

Vision slowly returning, he attempts to focus on his surroundings. It takes a moment for the dark to fade into something brighter, though as it is that’s not so bright at all. He’s facing the sky, and he can see the gloom of empty purples and sickening greys where there should be blue. The rain splatters onto his body, but not his face, not even as he stares up at the sky. There’s… something, just above him. He tilts his head up, and sees the brim of a hat sheltering his eyes. Not his own hat, as he can’t feel it atop his head- can barely feel at all, really, as the small movement of looking up sends a wave of euphoria washing over him. 

The last thing he sees before the world goes dark again is unfamiliar- yet, not quite- eyes, staring down at him. 

“-awhile, and I’m very worried. What if-” 

“Calm your nerves, young friend. You’d know if he shouldn’t wake.” 

A huff. “I would?” 

A snort. “Who cares if he wakes! He assaulted me earlier, you know, he-” 

“Stinky, hush!” 

The voices sound muffled together, Snufkin hardly able to properly focus on them. He can tell one belongs to Moomin, though it takes him a moment to process this. Then, it takes him another second to wonder why he can hear them at all, since he’d just waking up and shouldn’t have his hearing aids in, yet they’re clearly in right now. And why was Moomin with him while he slept? And who was the other voice? 

“Snufkin? Snufkin! Oh, he’s stirring!” Moomin’s voice calls far too loudly, and Snufkin shrinks from the sound. Moomin’s next words are cautiously quieter; “Snufkin, are you awake?” 

The mumrik makes a sound, though he’s not sure what to describe it as. After a few more seconds, he realizes that that won’t suffice, so he tries to speak again. 

“‘Wake… ‘m awake…” he slurs, and the unknown voice above him speaks next. 

“Kid, wake up, would ya? You’re taking up my bed.” 

There’s a thud sound of skin brushing against skin. 

“Ha, I was kidding, Young Moomin. Don’t push people! As mean as your father, you are.” 

Snufkin opens an eye. The first thing he sees is the glow of a fire, laid out on a rock floor on sticks and a makeshift pit. His eyes trail backwards to land on Moomin, who looks incredibly anxious. Just beside him is a man he doesn’t recognize, but who has a red hat that makes Snufkin suddenly remember everything. 

“Oh,” is all he can say, at first. “You’ve found a man.”

Moomin nods, and the man laughs. “A man? Funny, that. Most people just call me young at heart, or Joxter for short.” 

Snufkin just stares. The man doesn’t seem put off by this; Moomin taps his fingers together, fidgeting in the quiet. “The man here caught Stinky, who’d ran right into him,” Moomin explains while the man smirks so smuggly that Snufkin instantly has hard feelings for him. However, Moomin waves a paw to shrug off the comment, turning his nose back towards Snufkin. “Are you feeling alright, Snufkin?” 

Blinking, Snufkin raises a paw to his head. He can feel a bandage wrapped around where he’d knocked it falling down, and his paws trailed over the wrapping, curious as to how long it goes. He’s still working his way over the lines passively as he responds, “yes, I think so. My… my head hurts, though, and I feel quite… foggy.” 

The man nods, quiet all of a sudden. Though it doesn’t last long, and Snufkin realizes it was the calm before the metaphorical storm, excusable only from the one outside. “Yes,” he starts, glaring over at Stinky, “A tiny brown thing runs right into my while my back is turned. It’s a narrow path, you know. Knocked himself out cold, just like you! I was just looking him over when your friend was shouting so loud just beyond a turn, I had to come out of my den and see what all the ruckus was. And poor you, down in a ditch! Oh, it was a sight. I had to crawl down there in the rain just to go and grab you, and you’re very light, even with your clothes soaked in rain water.” 

Snufkin turns to Moomin, who nods in conformation, anxiety still floating around in his eyes. Snufkin turns back to the man. “And you would be…” 

The man tips his red hat. “Joxaren. Most call me Joxter, though. Easier, I suppose.” 

The Joxter. Oh. It was the man that Moominpappa had travelled with in his stories. The one that slept most of their adventures and cracked jokes even as their ship was crashing. Yes, that explains a ton. 

Snufkin goes to tip his own hat, paw falling short in the air as he remembers it had blown away. The thought of his hat being lost was quite depressing, but he supposed it was inevitable with a life of travelling to lose it eventually. He thinks this, hope it will push away his feelings for now, and sighs when it doesn’t. 

His hat was the one thing he’d taken that was something more than a necessity from Mymblehouse. Her mother had it laying around in her basement, and he’d never asked- or, gotten his nanny to ask- where she’d gotten it from. Yet, from a young age, he’d love it. Though too big for him at the time, it was comfortable and kept him safe from sun and drizzle alike. 

He’d never been without it since he’d started his journey, and losing it was unfortunate and more than a little upsetting. Though, his head was starting to hurt again, and his paws make their way to his temple to cradle it; Moomin reaches out his own paws, holding him steady. 

“Snufkin,” he says hurriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Yes, just… just sore, Moomin. I think I’ll rest until it goes away.” 

“Ha!” The Joxter, far too loudly, exclaims. Snufkin flinches and Moomin glares his way, but he doesn’t even look bashful. “You could have a concussion. You shouldn’t sleep until you feel better, kid. When the storm clears, which it should soon, since you’ve been out for a bit already, I’ll carry you back to your home. But no sleeping at any time until we know it’s safe. Got that?” 

“That’s a myth! You can sleep with a concussion, you idiot!” Yells Stinky, rolling his eyes petulantly. 

“How about you test it out, then? I can give you one and you can have all the naps you want, Fluff,” Joxter snuffs, and Stinky grumbled to himself but shuts up, and Snufkin finds himself respecting the man, just a little. 

The Joxter makes them soup, even pouring a bowl for Stinky, who was tied up in the corner- probably Moomin had tied him, though he had to wonder why the Joxter had some just laying around. Stinky gives them all the stink-eye, and he eats his food quickly and with far too much slurping sounds for anybodies taste (though, the Joxter certainly didn’t eat quietly, either.) Snufkin has trouble eating all of his portion, giving most of it to Moomin. He’s very sore- his head is throbbing, and even the light from the fire is a lot to look at. He stays very silent, as the longer they sit there, the more the thought of talking makes his head shake. 

“It will get worse before it gets better,” the Joxter says quietly to Moomin, at one point. Moomin looks less than happy about this. 

“It’s my fault, though. If I had listened to him, he wouldn’t have come out with me… and I wouldn’t have bumped him off the side as I did.” 

Snufkin wants to speak up and tell him not to fret, that he knows it was an accident and he would never blame Moomin for any of it. That he’d be okay, and they’d be home soon, and if they hadn’t come out Moomin would have regretted it for the rest of his life. How happy Snork will be once brave Moomin returns that which was lost. 

As it is, he’s lacking the energy to do much else than listen, forcing his eyes awake rather than closed for the inevitability of sleep. The Joxter seems to have no issue speaking in his place, however, as Moomin mumbles about Snufkin getting hurt being his fault. “Moomintroll- Moomintroll, it’s very odd saying your name, for it belongs to your father too. Anyway, Moomintroll- you ought to let your friend have the freedom to keep you safe as much as get himself hurt in the process if he chooses to be by your side to do it. He cared about you enough to come with you even when it didn’t concern him, and you let him come for a reason similar, right?” 

A huge chunk of information Snufkin must have missed, somewhere, where Moomin had told him all this. Snufkin tries to remember when he’d spaced out, and almost does it again, brought back my Moomin’s hesitant, “... your point?” 

“Don’t blame yourself is my point! Things happen as they’re intended to, and blame is a silly finger to point, and it’ll always land on yourself if you swivel that paw too much. I’ll help you get him to his house and you can make sure he doesn’t get worse, and take him to a doctor if he does. Where’s he live, then?” 

Moomintroll looks at his toes and wiggles them by the fire. “In his tent, which I’m fairly sure is in his backpack there. But he can stay in my house- Moominhouse, the one Moominpappa- er, you knew him as Moomintroll, I suppose- built. If he agrees, that is.” 

Joxter looks over to him, then, and Snufkin continues to stare blankly at the foot of the bed he’s sat on. It’s more of a nest, really- nothing more than a folded blanket, a pillow, and a blanket on top of himself. Even his robe was off- warming by the fire as Moomin and the Joxter were. Though Snufkin still had his pants on, and he wondered if neither of them felt at ease pulling them off, or if they weren’t of enough concern to bother removing. Either way, he pulls the blanket closer, and Joxter’s eyes leave his side to return back to the crackling fire. 

He pokes at it with a stick, igniting it further. “It will be nice to see Moominpappa, again. A father now, and to someone as kind as you, Moomin. How lucky he must be.” 

Moomin smiles softly to himself, then asks, “have you got any children?” 

Joxter hums. “I do have a child, though I’ve not seen him for so long, now. I wanted to take him travelling, but my travels involve many dangerous things, and I would never dare put an infant through that.” 

Moomin’s are wide. “Like what, monsters?” 

“Close!” Joxter purrs, tail flicking. “Cops.” 

“... oh.” 

“Yes. I don’t agree with them, on many things at least. I travel often and go where my heart takes me, and it usually finds me in situations that should have me in cuffs, aha!” 

“... right.” 

“Yes, well. You see why I’d never bring a child into a life like that. I think I’ll have a visit with his mother, see what he’s gotten up to in these years and pay him a visit. Perhaps now he’s older he’d even like to travel with me.”

Snufkin can’t help but snort. Joxter and Moomin look to him, and though it causes him to shake, Snufkin bites, “you mean all this time you’ve never once visited your son?” 

Sputtering, the man stares at him. “I just said I follow my heart. It’s my nature to travel and be where the wind takes me, and it’s not led me home. Perhaps a day it will, and then it will be the right time.” 

“If you have someone important enough to return to,” Snufkin says, voice calm though quite unnerving, even to his own ears, “your heart will always lead you back to them. You can still travel and have a place to travel back to, because it wouldn’t be a place you’re returning to, it would be a person. Does your heart honestly not pull you back to someone as important as your own son?” 

The Joxter opens his mouth, then closes it. For a moment, he just pouts- then, his expression becomes peaceful, almost at ease with his words. “You must be a mumrik. You don’t smell one- probably all the mud, since you did take quite a tumble. A mumrik always follows his heart, and you clearly understand just what that means. However, fellow mumrik, I must say that we are two of a kind. I’ll travel back to my son when my heart takes me to him, and I’ll not question the winds. Eventually, I’ll find him again, and it’ll be as it’s meant to be. Perhaps he’s not back home, and that’s why I’ve not been back yet,” he blinks slowly, cat-eyes returning to him softly, “though, I’m glad to hear you follow your heart back home, wherever they may be. I’ll find that, too, as I go. Can’t be rushed, kid.” 

Snufkin’s eyes downcast once more. The Joxter gets up and walks over to him, leaning over to ruffle the bits of hair he has sticking out of his bandaging. Snufkin swats him away, and he laughs. “You’re feeling better, then. That’s good, because the rain has stopped. We’ll give it a few more hours to dry, and come then the sun will be starting to set. We’ll travel with it, hmm? No sleeping until then.” 

“... Fine.” 

“Fine! Fine, he says. No respect for elders, these days. Is that how you talk to Moominpappa, dear Moomintroll?” 

The troll looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he says, “sometimes?”

Joxter doesn’t seem to like this answer, either, and Snufkin smiles to himself. 

As promised, when the moon starts to rise, the Joxter deems the path solid enough to traverse again. Once their cave talk had died down, Joxter had insisted on Moomin getting some rest before they started walking all night. Moomin argued for a while, but Snufkin told him it was okay and that he’d be fine and here still when he woke up. Eventually, Moomin agreed, and Snufkin and Joxter listened quietly to the sounds of him snoring peacefully (he’d managed to fall asleep rather quickly after trying, despite being afternoon. Perhaps the gloom of the weather and the adrenaline of the situation wore him down, if Snufkin had to guess. He, too, would have liked a nap; Joxter had slapped him with his tail when he’d tried it, insisting he stay awake and try and keep himself alert so they were positive he wasn’t worsening. He didn’t seem to be, at least- Joxter would ask him random questions, ones he’d have to think to answer, and he’d usually respond after just a beat. Joxter took this as a good sign and went on packing his own things for the journey, claiming he’d only been travelling this way and had no issue finding the cave to rest in, as he’d come to it by climbing from below when it wasn’t a mess of sludge and slippery rock. 

“It’s best I go now, when it’s convenient, as that's what the wind thinks when it sharply veers any which way,” he’d said, and Snufkin idly wondered if that’s what he sounded like to his friends, and mentally promised himself to stop. 

Joxter carries Snufkin on his back, instructing him that walking such a long way with a head injury would do nothing but worsen it. While Snufkin disliked the idea of being carried all the way back to Moominvalley, Moomin seemed to trust that it would be better for Snufkin that way, and Snufkin felt too tired to fight them both. So, he agreed; Moomin, for his part, carries Snufkin’s pack, the package Stinky had taken, and Stinky himself, held on a leesh of rope and tugging at it executively. Since it’s Moomin’s call, Snufkin does not argue this as well, just watches in pity as they cross down the slope and Moomin tries not to lose his balance again. This time he has the extra weight, but it’s also solid ground and without rain pelting down on them- in the end, they do make it down safely. 

Just before they reach the bottom, however, Snufkin’s eyes go wide. The Joxter halts his steps, and Moomin slows from behind them, peering around them on the wider footing of the ridge to see what they’re stopped at. 

“Oh!” Says Moomin. “It’s your hat, Snufkin!” 

The Joxter bends down in front of them, where the hat lay wedged between two rocks. It’s muddied, certainly, but it’s undeniably Snufkin’s. He picks it up and inspects it, eyes wide. 

“This… can’t be your hat, surely,” the man breathes, and Snufkin reaches past his head to grab it and dust it off. The mud does nothing but cake against his fingers, but he can’t even feel disappointed at the condition it’s in, too caught up in having it back. He puts it atop his head and purrs, just a little. 

“Ah,” he muses. “Back where it belongs.” 

Moomin chuckles. “Somehow, it’s dirtier than your shirt.” 

“Yes, I suppose we’ll both be needing a good scrub, and now my hat too,” Snufkin agrees, padding its rim with his paw. Moomin and Snufkin laugh together, the action shaking Snufkin’s head in a way that vaguely hurts but the respect for his chapeau's sudden appearance outweighs anything else. Moomin begins to continue onwards, shuffling past the Joxter, who is still. Even a few steps away, the man does not follow. 

Moomin frowns at him, turning back to see the frozen individual. “Joxter?” he calls, and in silence returns to the two. Snufkin pokes Joxter, and finally he starts, eyes stricken. 

“Snufkin, where d-did you get that hat? I must know, please- do tell me, from a woman named Mymble?” 

Snufkin stares at him, for a moment, considering how to answer. Joxter looks like he’s just been shot, and the mumrik finds himself concerned after what answer he’s looking for. 

Eventually, he responds honestly and curtly, “yes, I did get it from a woman named Mymble. She’s my mother, and just before I’d left for my travels, she gave it to me to grow into.” 

The stricken look in his eyes is replaced with pure ecstasy. “Oh! Oh, that’s wonderful, then! A son of lovely Mymble, how grand! See, Mymble was the woman of whom I had my son with, perhaps you’d know him then. You’d be half-brothers, you know.” 

Snufkin and Moomin stare at him incredulously. 

“You’re kidding,” Moomin says. “What was your sons name?” 

Joxter laughs awkwardly. “Oh, I’ve been away so long I don’t recall that one bit. Mymble named him after a cat she used to have or something of the sort, you see, and I’d never met the cat so I’d never remember it from that. And I never used it vocally, anyway, since I left while he was so very small; as well, my son is deaf, so I’d never say it except to talk about him and I never much talk about myself, nor minding my son.” 

Snufkin and Moomin continue to stare. Joxter seems to think this is an invitation to keep talking, and does just that, smuggly so. “But that hat, you see, I gave to dear Mymble as a parting gift to remember me by. To find she’s left it to collect dust is well of her, at least she’s kept it at all! How sweet.” 

“Oh, boy,” Snufkin mumbles to himself, stupefied. “Hey, Joxter? I think your kid was named Snufkin.” 

Joxter blinks dumbly, and Snufkin crawls off his back, stumbling a little. Moomin runs over to him and grabs him, and Snufkin leans on him and he laughs. “Oh, boy, Moomin! Ha!”

Moomin doesn’t seem certain if he should look befuddled like Joxter or laugh uncomfortably like Snufkin, so he manages to do both at once. The two stood there, laughing, while Joxter stands and tilts his head in a show of confusion. 

“I- You two, quit laughing. Now, I’m confused. Snufkin, you’re saying you’re mine?” Joxter asks, drawing out his words so they sound almost like a whine. 

Snufkin stops laughing. He stares at his father blankly and snaps, “I’m not anybody’s. But I am a son of Mymble, and apparently the son of yours, because I’m the only of my whole family born deaf. See?” he says, pulling out his hearing aids with a sharp whine leading to absolute silence. He watches Joxter’s tail rise in surprise, mouth moving, and Moomin’s own mouth answering. Snufkin pops them back in and stares almost smugly at the older mumrik once they settle back on. 

“My son! Oh, Snufkin, of course you are my son! You’re the only mumrik among mymbles, I should have known right away!” he exclaims, falls to his knees, and pulls Snufkin into a hug. Snufkin entirely dislikes hugs, and tries to worm away, but Joxter’s hold is strong and Snufkin is still feeling particularly unsteady. Still holding him, the Joxter continues, “Snufkin, oh, so that was your name. It’s been so long and I’ve such a terrible memory, you know, time will do that to a man. Our paths have crossed and for once, the winds that carry us have converged! You’ve so much to tell me, and I you!” 

Snufkin admits defeat and lets the man hug him. Moomin shoots him an awkward thumbs up, which Snufkin does not appreciate. Eventually, Joxter releases him and resumes his steady, lackadaisical composure. His hands still rest on his shoulders, and his smile reaches his eyes. 

“Snufkin. Oh, how lovely to look into those eyes again, so much like my own. I didn’t realize you had hearing aids; in my travels I learned sign language, so when I found you again, we’d be able to speak,” he says, but doesn’t sound disappointed, just surprised. 

Snufkin feels something in his heart twist, a feeling he’d not felt since he’d been tugged back to Moominvalley that first spring. “You… did?” 

Joxter nods. In paws, he says, “for you, my son, I’d learn all languages so when we met again, you could pick which one you like the most.” 

Snufkin takes a moment to decipher the message- Joxter’s language and grammar was correct, but his paws are fast and Snufkin had not read the language in a long while, not since he’d gotten his hearing aids to begin with. Once he understands what he’s saying, he smiles, feeling his tail flicker excitedly. 

“Wow,” he breathes out loud. “Not even Mother Mymble learned sign, she hired a nanny for me.” 

Joxter laughs. “Sounds like her!” he exclaims, and his laughter is so much like his own that Snufkin can’t help but lightly join in. 

The younger mumrik, curious at his quietness, turns to look for Moomin’s expression. The troll is watching silently, eyes shining. The sight of the tears in Moomin’s eyes alarms him for a moment before he realizes that he, too, is happy- happy for Snufkin, and handling it badly. 

Snufkin, without a doubt, hates hugs. Yet, in that moment, he wants nothing more than to hug Moomintroll until the sun starts to rise. 

They return to Moominvalley. Snufkin’s is monitored at Moominhouse for signs of concussion for a week. The Moomins insist he stay longer, but he’s not felt bad for a number of days and is eager to pitch his own tent again. He’d usually share a bed with Moomin on the odd days he’d stay at Moominhouse, but his stay this time was spent in the vacant guest bed to best insure his physical health. 

Joxter, for his part, stays on their couch. He and Snufkin catch up a lot over that time- while Snufkin is still tempted to feel bitter over his father leaving his mother with the wave of children she had to care for himself, he also listens to his instincts. He knows how it can feel to feel overwhelmed in crowds, and how much it hurt to stay where you did not want and did not feel wanted. He’s not sure if he can forgive it, not really, but Joxter tells him heartily about his mother- how beautiful she is and was, a friend to him more than a lover, a woman who he could still describe in great detail to this day. 

“I might not have the memory of a man as young as you, Snufkin, but I’ve etched her face into the back of my skull, where my brain will always look,” The Joxter signs. 

Snufkin, for a moment, pictures a face himself. He signs back, “You still left her.” 

“My boy, a heart can love all it sees and still find a way to love sometimes just a little bit more. You can call me selfish, and perhaps you are right. Selfish belong in the water, so we’ll wade in it only if its worth tears.” 

Snufkin wrinkled his nose. “You sound like a bad poetry book.” 

“There’s no bad poetry! Only unpracticed,” the Joxter shoots him fingers guns at the end of his sentence, not necessarily a sign though the meaning was obvious, and Snufkin realizes he’s going to have to get used to this. 

Perhaps… that wouldn’t be the worst. It wouldn’t be worse than a comet almost crashing into their planet, at least. 

It would take time. A patience he isn’t sure he has, a world he’s never intended to cross back into. It wouldn’t be easy, but Snufkin didn’t dare convince himself it would be hard; watching his father sign words, smile that same smile his mother must have loved, at least at some point, and guffaw so much brasher and expressly than Snufkin ever did himself yet still managing to parallel his son in so many ways… it was a feeling of yearning in Snufkin, awakened softly. 

Joxter would leave, eventually, just as Snufkin would. The company was for now, and not for later. Perhaps there would be a later, if their paths did cross again. 

Perhaps, Snufkin thinks to himself once properly healed, sipping his coffee on the couch while the Moomin parents catch up with their old-time friend with smiles and laughter and even some harsh words they’d all had to get out of the way; perhaps, he thinks, he’d rather like that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Stinky goes to jail and breaks out two seconds later while Snork gets his stuff back. I didn't write that in bc I honestly felt like I was gonna die if I typed anymore. I was going through a lot while this fic was in workshop and lost a lot of my interests all at once :( I'm sorry this fic is my worst in the series, I'll probably delete it later, I just wanted to post it for not to Show That I Tried yano? Oof. Man when you lose inspiration you lose it quick and hard, and I'd only written the middle of this fic so I had to kind wackwhile my way through the beginning and the end.  
> Overall I'm just not super proud of this one, and I probably wont be writing more for this series unless my interest picks up again. I had a lot of fun on this journey as is, and I hope even though this installation wasn't the best, you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it. That being said, if people don't think this fic same as i don't, I'll probably delete it so it's not the last taste in everyone's mouth. I LOVED writing this series; having a place to properly write my deaf headcanons and vent basically helped me tremendously and seeing how much so many people liked it as well made me BEAM y'all. Couldn't have done it without you. Have a good day/night, I love you all!!!!!!  
> Edit: all the comments on this fic have been really nice and really helping me get through a lot rn, so I probably won’t delete this fic, even if it is still my least fav. I appreciate everyone who took the time just to say even one nice thing to me. It legit means so much 🥺


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